


Bang For Your Buck

by UnluckyWrench



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Gabriel Producers Porn, Gabriel is a Softie, Guilty Sam, Human AU, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Misunderstandings, Older Man/Younger Man, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Dean, The Pizza Man, The boring side of pornography
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-15 04:27:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11798391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnluckyWrench/pseuds/UnluckyWrench
Summary: Sam is far away from home and trying to make ends meet.  He gets a tip that a porn site is hiring web designers and he jumps at the chance.  Gabriel is everyone's favorite pornographer and gets accidentally smitten.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 8/8/2018  
> Updated/Revised first chapter is up. Will be going through and updating chapter by chapter until it's caught up.
> 
> First attempt at SPN fanfiction. Not beta'd because I really wanted to get it out there. Any comments, constructive criticism, and kudos are welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/8/2018  
> Updated/Revised this chapter. I will be going through and updating each chapter until it's caught up.

The Bizzy Bee Café had the best brownies in the city.  Gabriel had just polished off his second caramel turtle brownie when he felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up.  They were staring at him again.

Two tables away a gaggle of legging-wearing, latte-sucking housewives kept sneaking glances at him and whispering behind their hands, thinking he couldn’t hear.  Every so often he heard snippets of conversation, remarking on his hair or his outfit or his height, and though he’d love nothing more than to engage them in debate, he was on the clock.  He kept his eyes on the forms in front of him, minding his own business while they had their “private” conversation. 

He was used to people staring. After all, you don’t spend twenty years in the porn industry without knowing someone is watching you.

Gabriel Novak was a director, the founder and CEO of _Loki Entertainment_ , the intensely popular adult website.  It was your one stop shop for all things lurid and tantalizing, bringing together the best of what the porn world had to offer.  It was a thriving and lucrative business, combining all the best efforts of Silicon Valley and Silicone Valley, headquartered right here in beautiful Palo Alto.

He went about most days unnoticed, but occasionally, due to his company’s many charity outreaches, he got recognized.  Usually was benign, or like right now, a muffled conversation and staring.  Normally a few gibbering prudes hardly pinged his radar, but today he felt rushed and on edge.

He had a talent interview today.  Alfie, his new assistant, enthusiastically set it up a few days ago, but due to a hectic shooting schedule, he’d only been able to glance through the paperwork today.  From Alfie’s notes, the applicant requested they meet in a public place.  If not for the fact they recently lost two of their most popular performers and needed to fill the void (no pun intended), he wouldn’t have granted that request.

The guy should be arriving in fifteen minutes.  Gabriel took a bracing sip of his coffee as some battered sense of propriety had him hoping the lobby cleared out a little before then. 

Porn in the digital age brought new and exciting challenges to the world’s oldest pastime.  It wasn’t like the old days, back when all a man needed to break into this business was a big cock and a video camera.  Today, everything was done cleanly and by the books.  He ran a tight ship, but Gabe prided himself on Loki’s business model of quality productions with the happiest of endings. 

Still, he wasn’t a fan of having talent interviews outside of the office, least of all in a crowded coffee shop.  Gabriel was never the kind of producer who used the casting couch, but there were criteria that needed to be met in this business.  And since couldn’t ask the guy to strip in the middle of the café, today was strictly the oral part of the interview (pun intended).  He’d just have to make sure the questions were innocently phrased, but obvious enough to be understood.  As a past-her-prime brunette shot him a sneer as she passed him on her way to the bathroom, he debated asking the perspective model “ _How many cocks can you take at once?”_ just to see her face.

Any other day he’d be ready to go and sipping on his second mocha, but there was something about résumé that just stuck out in his mind.

First there was the name, Sam Winchester.  It was strong, and Gabriel hoped he wouldn’t want to change it for the videos.  Gabriel wouldn’t begrudge Sam if he wanted to use a fake name, which in the porn world was a common practice.  If anything, Gabriel encouraged that kind of imagination.  Porn could be a grueling job, and there was nothing worse than actors with no sense of humor. He was already going over promotional material and scenes in his head; a corporate motif, all authority and broken rules.  Depending on his tastes, he’d either pair Sam up with Bela or Inias…maybe both.  The bones were there, they’d flush it out later. 

Next was Sam’s special skill section.  It was a laundry list of non sequiturs like “advanced internet networking and coding skills” and “emergency first aid”, which should never go together in Gabe’s book.  It was strangely wholesome, since most special skills he saw usually involved acting, improv, or flexibility.  He read on, intrigued.

His past job experience was a series of odd jobs and temp work, which while not a red flag, did raise a few questions.  The last job listed had him working at a diner in town, and before that there was a significant gap of a couple years after an eight-month stint at an auto salvage yard in South Dakota.  That was curious but didn’t really raise any alarms for Gabriel.  Things like that were common in their world, taking jobs when you could, and it wasn’t uncommon for someone to supplement the income of their “respectable” job with an adult side gig. 

Oddest of all was there was no education listed.  Sam had nothing listed, no high school and no college.  It wasn’t unheard of for his performers to have only a high school diploma, and Gabe himself had dropped out of college (though he eventually went back), but this was odd.  With the variety of skills listed, unless this guy was some kind of savant, there was no way this guy had no higher education. 

Other than the total lack of an education section, it was a professional, straightforward résumé; something you would hand out in any corporate interview.  There was even a cover letter that ended with: “I hope to be a good addition to the team.”.  It was polished and poised; something right out of a how-to book. 

And that’s when all the gears clicked into place:  Sam had no idea what he was getting into. 

This wouldn’t be the first time Gabe had to help guide someone through the wonderful world of adult entertainment.  It could be overwhelming when you’re new, and just going by his résumé, Gabe could tell this guy was going to need all the help he could get.  He’d met several of these “virgins” in his time, and he’d taken them all under his wing and together, they’d all raked in lots of cash.  Hell, he’d met some of his oldest and dearest friends that way.  If everything went well with the interview and subsequent background and medical tests, he had no problem being Sam’s sherpa up Porn Mountain. 

Gabriel was about to check his phone again when there was a tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, are you Mr. Novak?” asked a tentative voice from beside him. 

Gabriel looked up, then higher up, into the face of a shaggy-haired angel.  “Sam?” he asked, straightening his papers, trying to appear professional.

The angel smiled, “Yes, sir,” he held out his hand, “Sam Winchester.  Nice to meet you.”

Gabriel shook his hand, ignoring the fact his hand was completely enveloped.  He resolutely ignored how soft his hand was, much softer than someone who worked in a salvage yard.  The shake, like the résumé itself, was straight out of business school; firm and confident. “Please, call me Gabriel.”  He motioned for Sam to take the seat across from him.

The soccer moms began whispering and surreptitiously gesturing at Sam.  One was just openly gawking with her mouth open like a landed bass.  Gabe smirked at her, giving her an eyebrow waggle while Sam wasn’t looking.  No doubt she’d be buying a subscription to Loki now, if she didn’t have one already.

The café table looked even smaller as Sam eagerly pulled his chair out and sat down.  He shifted a bit, slipping a black laptop bag from his shoulder and nestling it under the table.  He smiled shyly at Gabriel, running a hand through his brown hair, trying in vain to get it out of his face. 

He was perfect.  The name, the hair, that physique barely concealed under his crisp white shirt and black trousers, they all radiated sex.  Gabe was so fucked.

“So,” Gabriel began, trademark trickster smile splitting his face, “Tell me a little about yourself.  Give me a little background.”  Gabriel pitched, leaning back in his chair.  He eyed Sam, taking him all in.

He was handsome, that was for sure.  Long-limbed and muscular, but with a boyish charm that fit into any number of scenes.  He was almost tempted to forgo the physical screen tests and go right to shooting.  Gabe thought that a good start would involve a naughty cabin boy on a pirate ship.  No, he corrected, a rough and ready cowboy.  His heart beat faster envisioning Sam in leather chaps. 

Final choice of scenes ultimately went to the actor, but Gabe was there to offer suggestions and direction.  No matter what scenes he chose to be in, there was no doubt that he’d bring tons of revenue to the site.  And while he normally was more discerning, so long as his medical and background checks came back clean, Gabe was going to make Sam an offer. 

And that gave him pause.  Sure, Gabe was excited to work with him, but why was he was going directly into scene setting already?  Why was he ready to hire this guy so quickly? 

“Oh, okay,” Sam began, palming a small cup of coffee between his massive hands, “Not much to tell, really.  Um…I’m originally from the Kansas.  I moved to South Dakota when I was a teenager, then went to work with my uncle at his auto yard.  I moved here a couple years ago and since then I’ve been working around the city.”  Sam kept an obviously rehearsed level expression.

That was pretty vague information for a guy who’s looking to break into skin-flicks.  Gabriel knew from experience that this kid wouldn’t get anywhere in this business if he couldn’t be more open.

Sam was clearly nervous but put up a polished façade even as his knees bumped against the legs of their table, jostling it in an anxious rhythm.  He was trying so hard to keep everything contained, and the extra eyes on him weren’t helping.  This is exactly why Gabriel hated interviewing in public. 

“Okay,” Gabriel said conciliatorily, drawing out the second syllable.  This guy was definitely a virgin, but with those whispering harpies behind them, Gabriel didn’t want to be too obvious.   He tried again.  “Have you had any _experience_ in this line of work?  Preferably something that’s not on your résumé.”

“Oh, yeah.  Tons, actually.” Sam announced, and a genuine smile brightened his face.

Gabriel nodded, reflecting Sam’s smile, and motioned for him to go on. Of course he did, the kid was gorgeous.  Hell, on any other day, if he was just Gabe running into a hot guy in public, and not Gabriel, the friendly neighborhood pornographer scoping out talent, he’d be flirting shamelessly instead of just leering.  Life was so unfair, he reflected as he drank the last of his coffee.

“In fact, that’s what I did for my uncle and it brought him a lot of new business,” Sam offered, proudly.

Gabriel choked on his coffee, spitting some of it onto the table.  Sam was up in a flash, fetching handfuls of napkins before rushing behind Gabriel and giving him a few pats on the back. 

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, slowing his hand down to a firm rub in the center of Gabriel’s back.  The older man relaxed into his touch, and immediately felt his face heat up.

The soccer moms were cackling at him and a handsome giant was patting his back like he was a child.  Gabe was mortified but undaunted. 

“Easy there, Jolly Green, I’m not a bongo,” Gabriel quipped, dismissing Sam with a wave of his arm.  He snatched the offered napkins and began to swab the table and himself.  He eyed the larger man as he picked up his résumé which was now covered in chocolatey caffeinated goodness. 

After he’d settled down, Gabe swept the room quickly, making sure the other patrons had moved on from the novelty of a choking man wearing a Hawaiian shirt being thumped on the back by a long-haired giant.  When he was sure all eyes were off them he spoke.

“Care to run that by me again?” he said urgently, voice a little rough.

Sam was dabbing his papers, laying them out on the newly dried table.  He looked stricken and Gabe felt a pang of regret.

“I…I created and ran the website for my uncle’s auto yard?  He’s old fashioned, but after he saw how much business it could bring in, he got on board.  I can load it up on my laptop if you want.” Sam offered, swiftly reaching below for his laptop bag.

“Website?” Gabe asked.  Sam looked thoroughly confused.  It was a good look on him, Gabe thought. 

“Yeah.  It…it’s not much but I’ll show you.” Sam said simply, franticly clicking keys on his laptop.

Gabriel was entranced now.  He knew that virgins, especially those who never thought they’d ever do this kind of work would throw out any special skills they had to get the job, but instead of playing up his physical attributes, Sam brought out…a website?  With one raised eyebrow, Gabriel watched the coffeehouse harpies lumber away, leaving the lobby empty.  He was about to unload his questions, but Sam cut him off.

“It’s HTML, but I can also do CSS.  I still maintain it for him and it’s brought him a lot of business from across the country.”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed in confusion as the laptop was pushed in front him.  The browser was open to an admittedly well put together website.  From Sam’s nerves and practically shoving the laptop to him, Gabriel had half expected to find a collection of photos of Sam naked, but there was the banner for Singer’s Auto Salvage.  Though disappointed in the lack of naked Sam, Gabriel let out an appreciative grunt and scrolled through the site.  He was impressed, and though he didn’t know jack about computers, this looked like quality work. 

Sam had been prattling on as Gabriel politely scrolled through the website, obviously proud of his work, and was now talking about codes and statistics.  He looked like a giant puppy, and Gabe desperately wanted to scratch his belly.  When he said something about a python, Gabe finally snapped out of it.  He waited until the yoga pants guild had lumbered away before he asked, “Okay, this is great and all, but what’s this have to do with you having sex?”

Sam’s eyes went wide and his face blanched.  He made an unintelligible noise and rested both hands on the table, palms down.  His legs stopped their nervous twitching and his broad shoulders relaxed.

Time for Sherpa Gabriel to lead the way.

Gabe gave him a kind smile, knowing exactly how hard it was to negotiate your first contract.  He knew the kinds of things that were running through Sam’s head; the doubt, the fear, and the self-judgment.  He needed to know that no one will judge him, least of all Gabriel.  He was safe, and most of all, Sam was in control of everything. 

“Listen Sam,” Gabe began, closing the laptop gently, “I get it.  Everyone’s nervous when they first audition.  We’ve all been there.  Trust me when I say that this is all going to be ok.” 

Sam sat there staring silently at Gabriel.  His hands slowly balled into fists.

Gabriel sighed.  Looked like he was the strong silent type.  This was a complete one eighty from the cheerful guy Gabe had met a few minutes ago.  He hoped he snapped out of it because, now that they were alone, it was time to talk business.  Gabe was ready to offer Sam a contract and a starting rate, but only if he was serious about this.  If this business relationship was going to work, they know exactly where they both stood.

“I’ll be honest, you’ve definitely got the look,” Gabe continued, “The whole chiseled country boy thing?  Man, that’s classic.  No doubt you’ll be an instant hit, but right now?  Now it’s more a question of whether you have the personality.  You follow?”

“What?” Sam croaked. 

Gabriel considered himself a patient man, but this guy was really starting to chap his ass.  Now that they were alone, it was time to speak directly.  Gabe was ready to offer Sam a contract and a starting rate, but only if he was serious about this.  If this business relationship was going to work, they know exactly where they both stood.

“Look, I get why you’d want to do this in public, but we’re alone now and we need to have a very intimate conversation.  Now, if it makes it easier, we can go to my office to continue where you won’t have to worry about people overhearing us.  I promise, I’m not some sleaze ball.”

Sam was silent for a beat before his once carefully controlled face morphed into a mask of anger.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sam demanded, his voice rising to a roar at the end.  He grabbed his laptop in one swift motion, slipping it back into his bag. 

Gabe flinched, pulling his hands back toward his chest in shock.  Something had gone terribly wrong. 

“What kind of sick game are you playing?” Sam ground out, beginning to loom over the smaller man from across their small table.

“Y-You applied at Loki Entertainment, right?” Gabriel stammered, inching himself away from the table with his feet.

“Yeah,” Sam said, glaring at Gabe, “as a _web designer_!”

All the blood drained from Gabriel’s face.  Web designer?  Loki’s webmistress was supposed to be the one hiring for all the tech jobs.  She and Gabe had an understanding – she handles all the tech stuff and Gabe stays the hell away from it.  Alfie, in his excitement of having a “real job”, gave him the wrong type of applicant. 

All this time, he’d been appraising Sam like a side of beef, and when he thought back to all Sam’s responses, his face split into a grin.  Gabriel had a slightly warped sense of humor and was good at finding the humor in a situation, even if he was the only one to find it funny.

“Web designer? Oh God that’s just too good!” Gabriel broke off into uncontrollable laughter.

Sam’s tense, angry face fell as he heard Gabriel cackling.  “Fuck you,” Sam snapped before striding out the door. 

All the humor drained from the situation as Gabe watched his potential employee escape.  He grabbed his papers and ran after him.

“Sam!  Wait!”

Sam didn’t turn around.  He stormed down the street, his long stride keeping him well ahead of the voice behind him.  He kept walking, intending to put as much distance between himself and Gabriel Novak as possible.  After a few blocks he couldn’t hear Gabriel anymore, and a quick glance showed the he was no longer following him.  Good, Sam thought as he continued. 

Seven blocks from the café, Sam stopped at a busy intersection.  As he waited for traffic to stop so he could cross, Sam felt his stomach lurch.  He had a lot riding on that job, all his immediate plans hedged on him getting hired this week.  The money his uncle had given him was nearly gone, and while he was sure his brother would wire him some money, he couldn’t bear to ask.  Not after how they had parted ways. 

After being turned down by every other place he applied to, Loki Entertainment was his last chance.  Admittedly, Sam had been reluctant to apply at a porn website, afraid someone would use his employment there against him and derail his plans even though he was behind the scenes.  He toyed with using a fake name, but after all the liberties he’d taken on his résumé, he decided against it.

Initially, the Gabriel put him at ease.  After a week of research and planning on how to approach the interview, Sam was prepared for some greasy perv with zero respect for boundaries, but what he got was so much nicer.  He was personable, and Sam got a sense of warmth from him.  It’d all been going so well until he dropped the act and the jackass came onto him.

Sam pulled his battered iPhone out to check the bus schedule.  He hoped there was one coming soon so he could go back to the motel and forget all about the day.  As he was pulling up the app, someone tugged on his arm from behind.  He turned around and looked down into the flushed, panting face of Gabriel Novak.

“Clerical error!” Gabriel barked, silencing Sam before he could speak. “There was a clerical error!  Your application was supposed to go to someone else, not me.”

Sam glared at him but allowed himself to be lead to the side of a building so Gabriel could lean against it to catch his breath.  This guy could really use more cardio, he thought.

After a minute of huffing and panting, Gabriel looked up at Sam with solemn eyes.  “All the tech stuff gets handled by my Computer Queen, Charlie.  And yes, before you ask, that is her title.  She picked it.”

“Uh huh,” Sam snorted, “How the hell did you find me?”

Gabriel pulled a plastic mass transit card from his pocket and handed it to Sam. “You dropped your Clipper Card about seven blocks ago.  I picked it up and figured you’d be heading to the nearest bus stop.”

Sam took the card and patted his pocket, sure enough not feeling it.  He huffed.  “Resourceful.”

“I’ve got all sorts of good qualities.  Well, good-ish,” Gabriel chuckled, standing up after regaining his breath.  He looked contrite as he spoke.  “Look, like I said, there was a mistake.  I wasn’t supposed to be the one to interview you and, when I saw you I thought – well I assumed – I mean…look at you.”

Sam’s features softened, and he blushed.  Gabriel thought it was adorable.

“Not the best way to start a working relationship, Mr. Novak.” Sam quipped.

Gabriel huffed another laugh, “Sadly, this isn’t your interview anymore.  Like I said, Charlie handles the tech hiring and I handle the talent.  You’re going to have to have your interview with her if you still want the job.”  The sentence ended like a question.

“Well, I do still need a job.” Sam conceded.  “How soon can we set up the new interview?”

“I called her while I was chasing you.  She’ll be meeting up back at the cafe in about half an hour.  Then, you two can talk about computer stuff to your heart’s desire.  Until then, maybe I can buy you an apology coffee?  I’d buy you a card, but pretty sure Hallmark doesn’t make ‘sorry I thought you were a porn star’ cards.”

Sam let out a genuine laugh, running his hand through his long hair again.  Gabriel’s eyes lit up and he put his hand out to shake again.

“Let’s start over.  I’m Gabriel Novak, friends call me Gabe.  Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Gabe.  I’m Sam Winchester.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam reflects on the interview and meets his new boss.

Sam collapsed onto the uncomfortable bed in his motel room and toed off his shoes.  He was pleasantly tired and warmed both by enthusiasm and the celebratory whiskey he’d cracked open. 

Starting Monday, Sam would start his new job at Loki Entertainment as a web developer.

He should get up, do some cleaning, or at least gather his clothes for the trip to the laundromat, but he had a full belly and a nice buzz going.  He decided to cut himself some slack and burrowed into the pillow with a satisfied groan.

That near disastrous interview was a week ago.  Since then he’d been trying to keep focused, taking things minute by minute to keep from overthinking.  He was trying to lessen the sting of the inevitable rejection.  Then he heard back from Loki this morning and everything changed.

The day started hectically.  He arrived ten minutes late for his shift at the diner, but snuck into the back undetected.  A couple hours later, as he was scrubbing baked cheese off some pans, his phone buzzed.  There was an email from Loki Entertainment with the subject “Congratulations”.

He finished reading the email, a standard boilerplate form expressing generic welcomes and a list of contact information, along with an attached file of policy forms that he would read later.  He spent the rest of the day with a smile plastered on his face. 

Before the end of his shift, he went to his manager, Maria, thanked her politely for the job, and said he was leaving.  He hated to leave her in the lurch, but she understood the short notice.  She wished him luck and threatened him with a wooden spoon if he didn’t come back and visit.  Sam promised he would, and he would bring coworkers.

Sam stretched languidly, popping every tired joint from his neck to his toes.  He huffed out a chuckle as he thought back to that unorthodox interview.

Sam spent the entire night before his appointment going over possible scenarios and questions he may be asked.  He pulled out his old career tip sheets and studied interview techniques online.  After several mock interviews, and making sure his laptop was loaded with his websites and portfolio, he felt confident.  The next morning, he put on his nicest outfit and headed out to Starbucks with a spring in his step. 

Then he saw who was interviewing him.  Sam was expecting some middle manager or inconspicuous recruiter, not Loki, the CEO and public face of Loki Entertainment.

Gabriel Novak, known simply as Loki in his movie credits, was a big name in adult entertainment.  He helped legitimize the industry in California, throwing money around and helping to bring porn out of the shadows.  Sam was a fan of his Casa Erotica series, which was a fixture of adult programming lineups in most American hotels.  And there he was, sitting in Starbucks, wearing a hideous Hawaiian shirt and waiting for Sam.

Sam wasn’t ready.

He made his way to the counter to order, trying to ignore the situation, and considered just leaving.  He had it all planned; he’d leave, go back to the motel, start his maintenance shift early, and ignore any calls from Loki Entertainment until they forgot about him.  It was the perfect storm of cowardice.  Then he looked in his wallet.  Aside from a bus pass and a $5 bill, it was empty. 

Sam worked two jobs and did maintenance around the motel to pay for his room there.  He supplemented that with some money his uncle wired him each month.  Bobby insisted it was “residuals” for creating his website, but Sam knew it was charity. He couldn’t go on like this.  He needed steady, reliable pay to help him get back on his feet. 

Sam collected his coffee and took a deep, steadying breath before introducing himself to Gabriel.

Looking back to the beginning of the interview he chastised himself for being so oblivious when asked simple questions.  Knowing now that Gabriel was trying to gently ask him about previous sexual performances put everything into perspective.  He blushed again, remembering Gabriel’s suggestion that he looked good enough to be one of his models.

After the air was cleared, the situation became much less tense for them both and conversation came easily. 

They made small talk as they walked back to Starbucks. Gabe, true to his word, bought Sam another coffee and even threw in a chocolate croissant as a peace offering.  They commandeered a larger table toward the back of the store and Sam unpacked his bag again. 

Gabriel made himself comfortable.  With his legs crossed loosely at the ankle, sugary drink in one hand and his other arm slung cavalierly over the back of the chair he looked more at ease than Sam had ever been in his life.  He smirked at Sam, something impish behind those golden eyes.

Sam smiled back, partly to be polite, but mostly because of the whipped cream on Gabriel’s upper lip.

“So,” Gabe drawled, much more chipper than earlier, “While we wait for Charlie, any questions I can answer for you?”

“Um, yeah.  A few,” Sam nodded, then rubbed his upper lip to gently alert Gabe to his sudden moustache.

Gabriel took the hint and wiped his mouth with a napkin, Sam might have imagined the faint blush on his cheeks.  After a moment of annoyance, the smirk returned to Gabe’s lips, “Ask away.”

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  His mind was blank.  His nerves earlier, coupled with the confusion and anger of the mistake, wiped away all the research Sam had put in.

They sat there silently while Sam racked his brain. 

Say something _,_ Sam thought, trying to keep from panicking.  Gabe was just looking at him expectantly.  Something rose up unbidden in Sam’s mind: _He knows, Sam._

With that voice, the dam broke and old fears crept from the corners of Sam’s mind.  Familiar voices, distorted by time and emotion, told him how pathetic he was.  They whispered that he was going to blow this chance like he had so many others. They urged him to give up now before he made a fool of himself, before people got hurt. 

Hearing those voices again chilled him to the core.  He silently reminded himself that yes, he made mistakes, but he was trying to correct them.  He’d do better and never be _that_ person again.  He needed grounding, to focus on something tangible to help focus his mind.

Gabe’s face softened, noticing Sam’s tension.  He was about to speak when Sam quickly pulled a bundle of index cards out of his laptop bag.  Gabe raised an eyebrow as Sam shuffled them. 

“What the heck are those?” Gabe asked, sitting up.  He caught the hitch in Sam’s breath that turned into deep, deliberate breaths.  Was he still anxious about the interview?

“Questions,” Sam stammered, “I made a bunch of these flashcards of questions to ask at the end of the interview.” As he explained, he pulled specific cards out of the bundle.  Most of the questions were about technical matters.  Gabe wasn’t the technical director, but he could still ask the general workplace questions.

Gabriel nodded approvingly.  He leaned his elbows on the table, trying to peek at the cards to find out what Sam was going to ask Charlie.

“Okay, got the questions.” Sam announced with a light laugh. 

Gabe waved him on with a flourish, “Lay ‘em on me.”

Sam cleared his throat, and slipped back into professional mode. “How many people are in the company?”

“One hundred and ten in all, including part-timers.” Gabriel replied, taking another sip of his drink.  He was careful not to wear any this time.

“Is there a high turnover rate?”

“Not in the section you’d be working in.  The models generally had the highest turnover rate. The section you’d be working in is fairly permanent.”

 “Can you tell me a little about the company’s culture?” Sam asked, shifting the question card to the back the deck. 

Gabriel chuckled softly.  Sam blushed and tried to cover it by taking a sip of his coffee.

“On a whole, we’re pretty laid back.  Each department has their own quirks, but everyone works well together.  Very tolerant, _very_ open to new ideas.” Sam made a mental note, liking what he heard.

“All you have to do is play your role,” Gabriel continued, his voice softening, “Do your job the best you can and we’ll get along fine.  I don’t mean to brag, but my team is the best in the business.  No matter what kind of job you have at the company, we’re all of equal importance.”  Gabriel positively oozed pride when he spoke about his people and the work they did. 

“So, what you’re saying is do your job well, no matter what your _position_ ,” Sam deadpanned, fighting a smile from breaking out on his face.

Gabe’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped into a stunned rictus.  Sam was sure he’d done something inappropriate before Gabriel threw his head back laughing with a loud snort. 

“Oh man,” Gabe chuckled, “I love it!  You don’t mind if I use that, do you?”

Sam waved his hand, “It’s all yours.”

From there, the questions continued.  Sam learned how the business was divided into four parts that all reported to Gabe.  He learned that the work itself, even among the models, got pretty boring, so they all like to keep the atmosphere light; little gestures like randomly catered lunches and playful pranks were common.  Sam liked everything he heard so far and hoped he’d make the cut. 

Sam nearly spit out his coffee as Gabe told him about a prank he played on his accountant, Cassie, involving a jar of honey, some guinea pigs, and a trench coat.  He wondered if the “Computer Queen”, Charlie, would be as engaging as Gabe was. 

Before he got a chance to ask, Gabriel was waving at someone behind him.

“Over here, queenie” Gabe announced loudly. 

Sam tensed and shuffled his papers.  He glared at his resume which was dyed brown from the projectile coffee and still damp in places.  He couldn’t show how professional he was with a messy resume. 

The creak of a chair being pulled out made Sam look up.  A red-haired woman plonked down heavily beside Gabriel.  “Sup, I’m Charlie,” she chirped, catching Sam off guard.

She wore a stylized Princess Leia t-shirt and a purple hoodie with thumb holes cut into the cuffs.  Sam looked between the two of them and suddenly felt overdressed.  He should have asked about dress codes.

Charlie hunched over her mug and made an obscene groan after her first sip.  “Dark roast, you are my bitch lover,” she exclaimed, ostensibly, to her coffee.

Gabriel chuckled and shook his head, subtly eyeing Sam for a reaction.

Sam’s mind caught up with the situation and his manners kicked in.  He stood, holding his hand out to shake. 

“Hello, I’m Sam Winchester.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  Sam tried his best not to loom, which was hard as he towered over them both.

Charlie’s eyes widened.  She looked him up and down before taking his hand, “Wow,” she whispered.  “You are one tall vaso de agua.”  Sam agreed and took his seat. 

She saw the stained resume and snatched it up.  Sam coughed to mask his embarrassment.   

“Thanks for coming out on your day off,” Gabe apologized, stretching his arms above his head, “I know it’s short notice.”

Charlie shrugged, keeping her eyes glued to the resume, “Expect harsh Facebook revenge from Dorothy for ruining our Star Wars marathon.  She still has photos of you from the Christmas party on her phone.”

“I’ll be on the lookout,” he snarked, eyes meeting with Sam’s in what he hoped was a calming gesture.

“Great,” Charlie beamed, “Now, how about you go sit over there and look pretty while I interview Sam, here.”

Gabe barked out an obnoxious laugh and stood, “Sam, I leave you in capable hands.”

Sam laughed and threw him a salute.  Gabriel returned it and sat in a vacant armchair behind their table, immediately pulling out his phone.

Sam took a deep breath and turned his attention to Charlie.  Charlie grinned at him.  It was time to get to business.

From there, the interview became exactly what he expected.  Charlie threw him a batch of “what-if” scenarios, making notes in a Lord of the Rings moleskin notebook as they went. 

She made a few noncommittal sounds when looking at his portfolio, asking additional questions about his process.  When he loaded up the website he created for his uncle, she perked up and asked more pointed questions.  She seemed to mostly be interested in the payment systems and secure transaction aspects of his work, which made her scribble quite a few notes.  Sam took that as a good sign and began to talk up more of his work on transactional systems. 

Everything went smoothly from there, and Charlie even started a small side conversation about Harry Potter when she noticed that Sam’s laptop background was a high res photo of Hogwarts.

Sam thought he was in the clear, but then she asked the question he knew was inevitably coming.

“Okay, Hufflepuff, I only have one question with the resume.”

“Of course,” Sam said, clearing his throat.  He noticed Gabriel, who’d lost interest in the conversation when computer talk started, look up from his game of Candy Crush.

“So, I don’t see any schools listed here,” Charlie broached, “You got skills, but no degrees?  I need to know where you learned your coding skills and what the highest grade of education you completed is?”

“Well, I didn’t actually graduate high school.  I have a GED and that’s it.” Sam stated.  He saw Gabriel raise an eyebrow behind her, but he ignored it.  He’d trained extensively for this situation.

Charlie nodded, making a note. “And where did you learn how to code?”

“Spent a lot of time in the library, read every book I could on the subject.  There’s lots of free courses on the internet you can take, and I took a lot of them,”

Charlie just looked him dead in the eyes as if searching for something.  Sam didn’t know what, but he was ready.  This was one of the situations he’d researched for weeks, even before he applied at Loki.  He hoped that it wouldn’t come up, but that was asking too much.

“So, no college?” Charlie asked, oddly acceptingly. 

“I’m completely self-taught,” Sam shook his head.  Charlie nodded, and the interview proceeded from there. 

There wasn’t much left, just a few pleasantries, handshakes, and the obligatory “We’ll be in touch,” before they all parted ways. 

Gabriel gave him a friendly pat on the back before they left, walking in opposite directions down the sidewalk.  Sam hoped, at the time, it was a good sign and not a brush off.

In hindsight, it would have looked better to add his education to his resume.  It always looked better when you were upfront about things, but then he’d have to face the inevitable question _Why were you suspended from Stanford,_ and all the aggravation related to the fallout of that.

Potential employment be damned, he wasn’t ready to answer those questions yet.

Sam felt so guilty about lying to Charlie that he missed work at the Gas N Sip that night.  He had her contact information and debated emailing her the whole story, but he never did.

He hadn’t slept well since then, and he had to keep himself busy nearly non-stop to keep the voices away. It’d been one of the most exhausting weeks of his life.

Now, as he thought back, he still felt guilty about lying to Charlie like that.  She and Gabriel were nice to him and he could see himself having a real friendship with them both.  That thought stopped him in his tracks. 

He yawned, feeling the accumulated exhaustion of the past week.  Best not to think about it right now, he thought, reaching over and turning off the bedside light.

He lay there, sinking slowly into sleep, letting the noise of the traffic lull him like when he was a little boy.  As his eyelids slipped closed, he heard a thunderous engine pull into the motel parking lot.  He imagined he heard the faint hum of Metallica playing behind it. 

The last thought Sam had before falling into a deep sleep was, I miss Dean. 

\--------------------------------------------------

The neon sign of the Cedar Hills Motel flashed “vacancy” and bathed the car in an unnatural blue glow.  Dean Winchester stepped out of the Impala with a duffel bag and guitar case slung over his shoulder. He'd been driving for twelve hours straight and all he wanted was to fall, face first, into a bed. As he ambled through the parking lot it began to rain. He was too tired to move any faster. 

“Welcome to Palo Alto,” he muttered to himself as he made his way to the front desk to book himself a room for an extended stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, I know very little about the porn industry on a whole. The coming chapters, while researched, may still be inaccurate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester was having a bad morning.

Dean downed another mug of weak coffee and winced at the throbbing pain in his head.  A spiral notepad lay in front of him with a list written on it.  He tapped his pen in time with the throbbing of his temples as he thought about what to add to it. 

It was a simple list of four items: Find a job, new motel, new clothes, new phone. 

New clothes would be easy, as would finding a new place to stay.  He had plenty of money stashed in the Impala (in untraceable bills) which would last him a long time.  What was giving Dean trouble was the job.  His particular set of skills, while useful, weren’t going to help him in civilized society, and were exactly what he was trying to get away from. 

He had a GED and a give ‘em hell attitude, which didn’t amount to much in the Silicon Valley.  His real-world experience was limited, but he was a good mechanic.  He’d built cars from the ground up and kept his Baby, the black Impala, going for years. 

“More coffee?” asked the pink uniformed waitress, appearing suddenly at his side.  She shook the carafe, sloshing the weak brown water in a way meant to be enticing. 

“Thanks,” He threw her a dashing grin, closing the notepad.  Dean, even with a massive hangover, couldn’t help but flirt. 

She refilled his cup and gave him a smile of her own.  “It’s weak as a kitten, you want me to add a little something to it?  Hair of the dog and all that.” 

Dean blinked then chuckled, waitresses always knew what was up.  “No thanks, I’m trying to cleanse.”

“Could draw you a bath if you want.  Even throw in some Mr. Bubble.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Suit yourself, then.  Name’s Meg if you need change your mind.”  She shimmied off to attend to other customers, leaving Dean shaking his head.  _California girls_ , he thought.

From the window, out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw flashing red lights flying down the road.  Slumping down in his chair, he watched the police car pass.  They weren’t coming for him.  He let out a harsh sigh, downing half of his newest coffee. 

Dean was having a rough morning.

It all started when he blew into town on a straight shot from Texas to California.  After twelve hours behind the wheel of the Impala, he was greeted by a refreshing winter rain.  Dean checked into the motel for a two week stay, paying in cash.  The night manager thought the bills were too crisp, but he wasn’t paid to ask questions. 

Once in his room, Dean placed his guitar reverently by the door before he unzipped his duffel bag.  Inside, nestled among a small collection of clothes and papers, were four bottles of rot-gut whiskey and two loaves of jalapeño cornbread.

He cracked open the first bottle of whiskey that night and downed a quarter of it in one go.  The next two days were spent in an alcoholic blur, punctuated by nightmares and memories that he wished were nightmares.

Then, just two hours ago, he was startled awake by his motel door creaking open.  _Amateur_ , Dean thought, as he kept his breathing steady.  Even in his semiconscious state, his father’s old training came through loud and clear.  His hand very slowly moved to the loaded pistol under his pillow while he pretended to still be asleep.

Dean kept his eyes closed, not that they’d be much use in the darkened room.  He allowed his ears to take over.  Sound was very important to a hunter.  Every noise a target made, no matter how small, gave away everything he needed to know. 

Sound meant the difference between a live hunter and a dead one.  So, before he went to sleep, Dean left things on the floor to make noise and wake him up if some hostile made an unexpected visit in the night.  In this case, Dean left the empty bottles of whiskey, along with crinkling plastic snack wrappers, on the floor.

He sent a silent “Thank you,” to John Winchester for his training and went back to listening.

His visitor, whoever it was, did nothing to hide themselves.  There was no attempt to quiet their footsteps.  They were practically stomping.  Judging from the sound of a foot colliding with one of the whiskey bottles, Dean’s visitor was no more than five feet from his bed.   He misjudged them, they were much closer than he anticipated. They moved quickly, practiced or impatient, he couldn’t tell which. 

A thought then flashed through Dean’s mind, what if this wasn’t an amateur, but a confident professional?  He quickly ran through who would have a reason to seek him out and came up with only one name: Alistair, his former handler.

It was because of Alistair and his dirty tactics that he left the mercenary life.  Dean turned his back on him years ago, but the bastard vowed he’d drag Dean back.  What if it was him standing beside Dean’s bed, weapon in hand and a dozen armed thugs outside?

His body tensed, every muscle in his body readied for a fight.  _Never again_ , he thought as he gripped the .357 Magnum and sprang from the bed. 

In an instant, Dean rushed the intruder, blocking with his left forearm, and forced them against the far wall.  The muzzle of the gun pressed against the assailant’s head.  Whoever this was, they were no professional, judging from their whimpering.

“Who sent you!” Dean demanded, blurry eyes adjusting in the dim room.  The assailant blubbered an attempt at speech which drifted off into a muted squeal.

Dean reached over against the wall with the muzzle of his gun, fumbling for the light switch while keeping his arm braced tight against the intruder’s neck.  There was a click, and the room was bathed in yellowed light.

As Dean focused his attention back at the perceived assassin, two things became startlingly clear: First, this wasn’t an assassin, it was the cleaning lady, and second, Dean was naked.

Immediately, he lowered his weapon and stepped away from her, covering his crotch with his hands.  She remained rooted to the wall, shaking and staring at him with glossy eyes.  Her hand traveled up to grasp a gold cross that she wore around her neck. 

“Ma’am…I….um…” he attempted, a ferocious blush starting to spread across his body.  It was then that the maid found her voice.  She her shrill screams were punctuated by what sounded like Spanish swearing.  Dean stepped back farther, tripped on one of his discarded whiskey bottles and fell flat on his back.  The maid made her escape, rushing through the door and knocking over her cleaning cart in the process. 

Dean lay there a second, comparing his life to the moldering water stain on the ceiling, before getting up.  At least it wasn’t Alistair

Dean was an old hand at quick exits (another silent thank you to his father) and he dressed quickly.  He was thankful he hadn’t unpacked, as he grabbed his guitar and duffel bag, along with the last half bottle of whiskey.  As an afterthought as he was rushing out, he pulled two crisp fifties from his jacket and tossed them in the pocket of the upturned cleaning cart.  As he ran across the parking lot to the Impala, he heard the commotion of people frantically yelling in the manager’s office.  He slipped into the driver’s seat and took off.

By the time the police arrived, he was long gone. 

He drove around a while, attempting to clear his head.  He stuck to the highway, letting the smooth feel of the open road calm his aching head.  Having grown up in this car, driving her gave him a sense of peace he’d never felt anywhere else.  When he was driving, Dean could let his mind slip off for a while.  As his body automatically took over the controls, everything was simple. 

He was on autopilot when he pulled off at a random exit.  He passed large businesses and tech parks, fancy schools and tree-lined neighborhoods, and dopey smile spread across his face. This place was pleasant, it probably had an underbelly, everyplace did, but Dean could see the appeal.  He could see himself living there, not just visiting. 

He took a random left and saw a sign that said, “Stanford University Visitor Center” with an arrow pointing ahead.  Dean’s smile faltered when he saw where he was.  He wanted to turn around, but he couldn’t.  He kept going forward, despite the growing lump of unease in his chest.

He drove around the campus, watching the college students stagger around as they made their way to class.  Looks like he wasn’t the only one drinking last night. 

It was a beautiful campus, full of green lawns and perfectly trimmed trees.  It was clean, bright, and it was exactly where his little brother deserved to be.  He made Dean so proud sometimes that, even now, after the schism, his heart was full to bursting. 

He kept an eye out for Sammy, looking for any freakishly tall students.  He thought he saw him, jogging down the main drag, but as Dean got closer he could see it wasn’t him.  Hair was too short.

He thought about calling him, Sam was the reason he headed to California after all.  It’d been a month since they last spoke, and that had only been a quick text exchange to assure one another they were both still alive.  The sparseness of the calls was to be expected, after how they parted ways, but Dean hoped that things could be different now. 

The spark of hope burned in his belly, but he couldn’t see Sam now.  He may have to fix a few things, but for the first time in a long time, Dean felt he could do it.  He drove away from Stanford and into the business section of the city.

After that, as the adrenaline began to wear off and his hangover started in earnest, he set off in search of breakfast.  That’s how Dean found himself here in the in the Maple Café drinking weak coffee and pondering his future. 

He looked down at the list and added another item, “Call Sam.”

“Alright,” Meg announced as she came up beside him.  She placed a mound of saturated fat and carbs in front of him, “Hangover Special, with an extra side of toast and jalapenos on the side.  Get you anything else, hon?”

Dean looked down at his list.

“Depends, you know anyplace looking for work around here?  I work on cars.”

Meg grinned an almost predatory grin.  “It just so happens that I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, major stuff happening. I went on a major job interview two weeks ago and am still waiting for the results. Hopefully, they'll call me this week. That anxiety over a job interview sort of sparked this whole thing, so here's hoping it goes well. And, before someone asks, I didn't apply at a porn site. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunchtime at Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me a lot of trouble for some reason.  
> Thanks for sticking with me. :)

Gabe hadn’t been kidding when he said Loki was a friendly place to work.  In the two weeks he’d been working there, Sam had been greeted by nearly everyone on the payroll. 

His first day, Charlie eagerly led him to his new desk where he found a Tupperware container of homemade crème puffs.  There was a note taped to the lid:

  _Sorry I thought you were a model.  Enjoy!  - Gabe_

The gesture made him laugh as he remembered that embarrassing day and thanking God it all worked out.

As Sam was setting up his new desk, Charlie warned him that people would be stopping by to welcome him to the company.  Sam thought she just meant the other designers and development staff, but that thought was dashed when a busty blonde woman in a leather corset and fishnets handed him a tin of homemade cookies.  “Welcome aboard, sugar,” she cooed in a thick, Southern accent before catching him in a motherly hug.  Sam was stunned and completely unsure what to do with his hands.  He was still pretty sure he heard Charlie and his teammates snickering at him.

Two weeks, and countless homemade baked goods later, Sam was loving Loki.  He’d been welcomed with open arms among the web staff, and all but adopted by Charlie.  

He liked Charlie a lot, she was a geeky spitfire who could and would kick the ass off anyone who crossed her.  She took him under her wing.  It was Charlie that ultimately helped him get used to working at Loki, since he still had some residual embarrassment at working for a porn site.  He was working through it, and they’d fallen into a comfortable working relationship based on caffeine, sex puns, and movie quotes.

He never really considered how friendly pornographers could be.  It was like a family.

Today, Sam was sitting in his cubicle, sipping black coffee, as he worked on a webpage for balloon fuckers.  Management wanted to ease him into the job, so Charlie had him updating template designs and minor updates for Loki’s lesser traveled “specialty fetish” pages.  So far, Sam had a hand in the browsing history of people who got off on balloons, tentacles, and getting kicked in the nuts. It was weird to think about, at first, but who was he to judge.  He did get a little uncomfortable when he worked on the coulrophilia page, but grit his teeth and worked through it. 

He looked up from his work when his phone buzzed with a text notification.  It was his bank, letting him know his first paycheck had been deposited. 

Sam gave a small, triumphant pump of his arm as he felt a warm surge of pride fill his chest.  He could finally start putting his plans into motion.  Tonight, after he got off work, he was going to grab some food at Maria’s Diner and do a little apartment hunting online.  Then call Bobby, tell him the good news, and let him know that those monthly “residual checks” would no longer be needed.  This was the beginning of something good, he could feel it.

He was about to get back into work, when a shadow fell over his desk.

“Hey, Winchester,” Charlie chirped, peeking over the wall of the cubicle like a ginger ‘Kilroy’. “Lunch time.  Bossman got us a spread from that Russian place downtown.”

Sam’s mouth watered at the thought of spicy ham on Russian rye, but he was hesitant.  He was behind schedule for the day, and he wanted to get things sorted.  “I want to finish this one part.  I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Sam hesitated, almost questioned.

Charlie nodded and shot him a disarming smile.  “Suit yourself.  I’m getting in there before Gabe bogarts all the chocolate cookies.  Save you a seat.”

“Thanks, Charlie.”

Sam watched her amble off, throwing her arm around a passing coworker, Kevin, as she dragged him off for lunch as well.

Sam turned back to his work, grinning to himself about the night ahead.

“Hello,” a gravelly voice drawled from behind him. 

Sam jumped and swore under his breath, jostling his keyboard and pounding out a few extra symbols before turning.  A slightly bewildered man in a trench coat stood behind him.  The man’s head tilted in confusion, as if this guy didn’t understand he scared the hell out of him.

“Uh…Hello,” Sam replied with a chuckle, extending his hand after he took a breath. “I don’t think we’ve met yet.  I’m Sam…” Sam trailed off as the man gave him an intense look.  He didn’t blink.  It was as if he was staring into Sam’s soul and Sam suddenly felt cold.

The man’s expression shifted into a small, thin-lipped smile as he took Sam’s hand.  “It’s nice to finally meet you, Sam.  I’m Castiel, Loki’s CFO.” 

“Nice to meet you, too.  Is there something I can help you with?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Castiel continued, glancing around the empty cubicles, “I’m looking for Charlie, and I thought I heard her voice a moment ago.  Have you seen her?”

“She just went off the breakroom with the rest of the team.”

Castiel muttered something under his breath before blowing out an annoyed sigh.  “Thank you, Sam.  Sorry to have interrupted your work on” he squinted, reading the title of the file he was working on, “‘Balloon Babes 5’.”

He said it with such a bland delivery, Sam couldn’t help but snort. “No problem.  Have a good one.”

Castiel turned to leave, but turned back to face Sam.  “My brother spoke highly of you, Sam.  You’ve made quite an impression.”  He walked off, trench coat flapping behind him.  Sam watched his retreating back, slightly bewildered, before going back to his work.

What brother?

* * *

 

Gabriel walked around the buffet spread, easily weaving in and out of people and filling his paper plate high with anything sweet. 

The last Friday of every month, Gabriel and the other execs bought the company lunch.  It was a nice, informal affair where the employees could mingle and start their weekends off right.  Despite what small minded people liked to think, porn was hard work. His people worked their butts off and deserved a treat every now and again.

He chatted amiably with everyone he passed, asking about their families and cracking jokes, as they all selected their food.  He’d been good so far today, picking up some fruit and carrot sticks to go with his six Black Forest cookies.  The people closest to him had been on his case recently about changing his eating habits.  If Charlie rode his ass any harder about it, he’d need a saddle.

He had fruits, veggies, and since he counted the cookies as a grain, all that was missing was some protein.  He moved toward the sandwich platter to grab a mini turkey wrap, hoping to appease his pain-in-the-ass friends and their food pyramid schemes. 

A bearded man with curly brown hair was standing at the table with a haunted look in his eye. He was lifting the top off a BLT with a plastic knife, inspecting it critically. 

“Lose something, Chuck?” Gabe smirked, grabbing his tiny turkey treat.

“Checking what the mayonnaise to bacon ratio is on these,” Chuck muttered, distractedly.  Finally seeming satisfied, he placed the sandwich on his plate.  “Doctor says I need to lower my cholesterol.”

Gabriel nodded, making a mental note to have dressing ordered on the side next time.  Chuck Shurley was the head writer for Loki. He and Gabe entered the industry around the same time (Gabe in front of the camera and Chuck hiding behind the camera) and when Gabe struck out on his own, he offered Chuck the job. Together they built an adult entertainment empire.  He was one of Gabe’s closest friends.  “Well, you look great, anyway.  The hobbit look is really in this season.”

“Dick,” Chuck retorted, though there was no heat in it. 

“That’s ‘Mr. Dick’ to you.”

Chuck huffed a laugh, and shook his head.  He opened his mouth again, but stayed quiet.  He held his paper plate with both hands, distractedly drumming his fingers on the bottom of it.  Gabe arched an eyebrow slightly. Chuck always exuded an aura of nervousness, but this was different. Something was up.

“So, uh…did you get that script I sent you this morning?” Chuck asked, clearing his throat to avoid squeaking.

Ah, that’s why he was suddenly acting squirrely, he needed to speak to his boss, not his pal.  Gabriel nodded and quickly swallowed the mandarin he’d been chewing.  “I did.  Great draft, Chuck.  As always.  Can’t wait to start shooting on Tuesday.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, Tuesday.  That’s great….” Chuck trailed off. 

This was painful to watch and it was making Gabe nervous.  Whatever was going on, it was serious. The poor guy looked like the family dog during Thanksgiving dinner: hoping for a treat, but resigned to scraps.  Gabe pulled Chuck out of the food line and into a quieter corner of the room.  “C’mon man, spit it out.  You’re making me nervous.”

It took Chuck a moment to find his voice, and when it did it was still too hesitant for Gabe’s liking.  “So, I hate to do this – like, really hate to – but…could I leave the final editing to you? I…I know it’s short notice but I kind of need this weekend off.”

So that was it. Chuck asking for time off, though, could only mean one thing. Gabe moved in conspiratorially, “You finally taking Becky to that little B&B in Monterey?”  He waggled his eyebrows.

Chuck groaned, but smiled. “Yeah.  She got a weekend off and…well…Gabe, I think it’s time we talk about marriage.”

Gabe’s eyes rush to his hairline.  This was big news, of course he had to make a joke. “Chuck, I’m flattered but I’m just not ready!” He totally deserved the arm punch he got, but couldn’t help sniggering.

“Asshole," griped Chuck. "Can you do the editing or not?  If the shoot starts Tuesday, it needs – “

Gabe raised a hand to shush him.  “Relax, I got it.  You two have a good time.”

Chuck’s smile was so wide it made his cheeks ache. “Oh man, Gabe, thank you!  I’m going to go make the arrangements now.  I promise, if she says ‘yes’, you’re so invited to the wedding.”

“I better be!” Gabe snarked, reaching for a carrot on his plate. Seeing Chuck's eyes light up was thanks enough, honestly, but Gabe'd never been one to turn down a party.

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh?” quipped Chuck, as he gathered his things.  “Thanks again, man.  Later!” And like that, Chuck was gone.  In his haste, he didn’t see Gabe’s wince at that last comment. 

As Gabe watched the retreating back of his friend, he couldn't stop the coldness that flowed through his chest. Carrot be damned, he thought as he shoved an entire cookie into his mouth.

* * *

 

With a line of people that stretched out into the hall, Sam hoped the food wasn’t all gone.  He’d meant to come in sooner, but one stubborn line of code just wasn’t translating.  He peeked over the heads of others in front of him.  There was still plenty of food left and, though the breakroom was crowded, it wasn’t the feeding frenzy he’d anticipated.  Still, he hoped Charlie saved him that seat.

The line moved quickly and Sam was soon filling his plate with scoops of salad, potato chips, and two of his coveted spiced ham sandwiches.  He smiled when he saw the dessert tray was decimated and, as predicted, completely out of chocolate cookies. 

He heard Charlie behind him, fiercely chittering to someone.  When he turned, he saw her sitting at a table near the window, flanked by Castiel and Kevin.  She and Castiel were locked in an intense conversation, which looked important enough that Sam didn’t want to interrupt.  Kevin, who was sitting at the end of the table noticed Sam and waved at him.  He pointed down at an empty chair beside him, motioning for him sit. 

Sam cautiously headed over.

Kevin happily munched on potato salad, unaffected by the bickering coming from Charlie and Castiel.  Sam gave him a final look, silently asking if it was safe, and Kevin just nodded and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Castiel.  He waved a form in front of Charlie attempting to keep her focused on something. 

“This is your final warning, Charlie.  ‘World of Warcraft’ is _not_ a business expense.” Castiel explained thickly, placing the form on the table in front of her.

“It’s stress relief,” Charlie pleaded.  “After a long day of working here, I need to blow off steam by slaughtering monsters and bad guys.”

“It’s a video game.”

“It’s catharsis!”

Castiel groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, “You can’t use petty cash for your own personal property.”

Sam watched as the two senior employees went back and forth.  Lunch and a show, Loki certainly had it all.

“Hey Sam,” Kevin greeted, trying to bite back a smile at the proceedings.

“Hey Kevin.  They do this often?” Sam asked bemusedly.    

“At least twice a month, or whenever new DLC comes out.” Kevin shrugged, smiling kindly at Sam’s confusion. “You get used to it after a while.”

The two chatted amiably for a while, mostly talking about how Sam liked the job and Kevin’s school schedule, completely ignored by Charlie and Castiel. 

Kevin was a sweet kid.  He sat in the cube directly across from Sam and they often chatted as they worked.  So far, they’d bonded over their mutual love of Magic: The Gathering and old school video games.  He was a good kid who skipped a few grades and was working his way through school at a porn site and trying, desperately, to keep his family from finding out.  Sam could relate.

After a while, Kevin looked down at his phone and swore.

“Hey Charlie, I’m late.  I’m going to go sign back in.  We still on for tonight?” Kevin asked, finally breaking up the staring matching she was having with Castiel.

Charlie waved him off, “Yeah, Gilda and I will meet you at seven.”

“Alright,” Kevin said, gathering his trash as he rose, “See you later.  Sam, if they start growling, you have my permission to use force.”

“Can do.” Sam chuckled, giving a mock salute.

“See you guys later tonight.  Oh, bring your ID tonight, Sam.  They card.” Kevin said over his shoulder as he walked back to the work floor.

Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion.  He was about to ask Charlie what that was all about when she slammed her fist on the table in annoyance

“Ugh! Fine!” Charlie growled, scrawling her name obnoxiously large on the bottom of the form Castiel had foisted on her. “Don’t you _dare_ come crying to me next time your laptop gets a virus.”

“Duly noted.” Castiel smugly hummed as he took the form back.  He had a huge smile now, all teeth and triumph directed squarely at Charlie.  After pocketing the form, Castiel looked up and finally noticed Sam had joined them.  “Hello again, Sam.”

“Hi.” Sam waved, wiggling his fingers.

Charlie flipped Castiel off then turned her attention to Sam and the annoyance melted off her face as soon as she saw him. “Hey, sorry about that.  Glad you made it, though.  I was about to go drag your ass in here.”

“It’s ok,” Sam said, after hastily swallowing a mouthful of salad, “I had to work the kinks out of some code.”

“Working out some _kinks_ , were you?” She joked, sipping from her mug.

Sam shook his head. “What can I say?  I work _hard_.”

“He does.  I took him completely by surprise when I came looking for you.” Castiel said, the innuendo obviously lost on him.  “He was working very diligently.” Castiel added cordially. 

Sam nodded to him in thanks.  It was nice to be appreciated by someone as high on the food chain as a CFO.  Charlie nodded, throwing Sam a subtle wink.

“Here’s hoping he can play hard too.” Charlie joked. 

“Hey, that reminds me, before Kevin left, he said something about seeing me later and needing my ID?  What was that about?” 

“Oh shit!  I forgot.”  Charlie smacked her palm flat against the table, “So once a month, a few of us get together and go to Maxie's.  You ever heard of it?”

Of course Sam had.  It was an odd combination of a bar, restaurant, and arcade; combining all the allure of a night club and the quiet dignity of Chuck-E-Cheese in one. Maxie's was a go-to spot for all the college kids in the area. He’d actually gone once, a thousand years ago, back with some people from the Stanford Pride Alliance.  It was bright, loud, and he had a good time. 

He’d wanted to go back, but when he started hanging out with _them,_ things like Maxie's and studying didn’t seem to matter anymore.  A lot of things Sam liked didn't seem to matter. Sam rubbed his arm unconsciously.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it.” Sam replied.

“So…you in?  I’m sorry, I was supposed to ask you earlier if you wanted to, but I forgot when I started getting hassled by the man.”

Castiel grunted through his nose.  “I am not ‘ _The Man’._ ” Castiel grumped.

Thankfully, Charlie and Castiel got into another glaring match, giving him a moment to think.  Sam inhaled deeply, then considered his options.

He could tell them he had plans tonight.  It wasn’t a complete lie; he did have to call Bobby, and he’d been meaning to see Maria since he left the diner.  That could be done any time over the weekend, though. He could also tell them he had to get up early; also not a lie, since he wanted to visit the farmer's market to get the first pick of the veggies. Of course, this would be his first chance to socialize outside of work.  If he declined, would he get another invitation?

Sam hadn’t had a night out in over a year.  Too afraid to run into anyone who might recognize him, Sam tended to go right back to his motel after work, spending his evenings online doing research or watching TV.  His weekends consisted of early morning supply runs and occasional trips to the library.  But, after so long, maybe no one would notice him.

Sam cleared his throat, half to get their attention and half in apprehension.  Charlie looked eager for his answer.

“Sounds fun.  I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coulrophilia is a sexual attraction/fetish for clowns.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Gabe's world.

Gabriel yawned as he lounged in his overstuffed recliner; in one hand, a fine California white, and a script in the other.  He’d been trying to go over the script, _Paddling Professor_ 9, for over an hour.  It had to be handed over to Benny by tomorrow evening if they were going to stay on schedule, but he just couldn’t focus. 

It was a pretty standard setup: arrogant frat boy mouths off to professor, professor tames the young buck, everyone gets off.  It was classic Loki, a surefire moneymaker.  They’ve shot dozens of scenes like this over the years; his personal favorite was when the cocky frat boy got his comeuppance by a ship full of probe-happy aliens.  Normally, Gabriel could come up with a few rewrites to keep things fresh, but tonight his heart wasn’t in it.  The script wasn’t badly written, and the pacing wasn’t off. It just couldn’t hold his attention. 

It’d been a weirdly taxing day.  After lunch, Gabriel went back to his office and attempted to work.  He tried to keep himself from dwelling on Chuck and his “always a bridesmaid” remark, but he failed.  He busied himself by organizing production files, but not even the menial tasks could keep his mind occupied.  That worked for a bout ten minutes before his brain started to morph Chuck’s words into something much darker than he intended.

Charlie, his bubbly little angel, knocked on his door just as his brain started screaming.  She really was his savior, whether she knew it or not.  She came to finalize plans for their monthly gettogether, and oh how Gabe wished he could go.  When he declined, there was her usual whining that usually got him to do her evil bidding, but he stood firm.  He had work to do, and the company always had to come first.  He shuddered imperceptibly when he said that last part to her.  For a moment he sounded like his uncle and older brothers.  She left him to his work, after muttering what sounded like a Klingon curse, and Gabriel went back to his menial tasks until it was time to go home.

He let out an exasperated breath and downed the remnants of his drink, savoring the fruity notes and tangy finish.  He couldn’t get his head in the game today, no matter what he tried.  He’d been at this for over an hour and had barely gotten past the first page.  Maybe he needed a snack; he hadn’t eaten since lunch and that usually made him cranky.  With the flick of the wrist, he tossed the script onto the coffee table, then patted his lap and whistled.  There was a yip from another room, followed by skittering of little paws, before Fenrir, the enthusiastic Jack Russell terrier, came clamoring onto Gabe’s lap.

“Hey buddy, you hungry?  I could eat,” he said with an indulgent smile, patting his dog’s sides. “C’mon.”  Gabe rose with a grunt, rolling his shoulders as he walked through his condo to the kitchen.  Fenrir skipped ahead of him, sliding a little when his paws met the kitchen tile. 

Gabe opened the fridge and examined the contents critically.  The fridge was full, but he was in no mood to cook.  There were various containers of leftovers and cold cuts, but they were sketchy at best and sentient at worst.  He’d been meaning to clean the fridge (along with some other chores) when he had a day off.  When _had_ he last taken a day off?

After realizing the fridge was a no-go, he moved on to the freezer, and was greeted with the half-eaten remains of a Carvel ice cream cake. Thank God, he thought, pulling the sugary miracle out.  He filled Fenrir’s kibble dish to keep the little monster at bay before tucking into the cake.  Wanting to make as little mess as possible, he held the cake and hunched over his kitchen sink as he ate it.  Gabe’s groans were near orgasmic as he shoveled the ice cream into his mouth, rolling the crunchy cookie pieces along his lips with his tongue.

The movement of his reflection in the oven caught his eye.  He looked up from the cake, then grinned licentiously at his disheveled state.  His hair was tousled, he was only wearing an undershirt and red, silk boxers, and there were smudges of chocolate in his stubble.  He was a glorious mess, the very portrait of hedonism, and all was right with the world.

After his solo ice cream social, he washed his sticky face and chest in the sink, shrugging at the brown smudges of dribbled ice cream down his front.  Not like I have anyone to impress, he reasoned sourly.  As he entered the den he spied the script laying on the table, mocking him like the grim specter of procrastination.  He sighed and poured himself another drink just as the mantle clock chimed seven.  It was going to be a long night.

He should have taken Charlie up on her offer to go out tonight, but again, duty called.  It sucked being a responsible adult.  The old Gabe, or rather the _young_ Gabe would have gone out.  He’d have gone to Maxie's, bought a round for his friends, ordered some jalapeno poppers, and hit on anyone who pinged his radar.

He grinned, remembering his old days in front of the camera, back when he first got started in the industry as The Pizzaman.  Back then, he wouldn’t be caught dead home alone on a Friday night.  He’d cash his check, head out to the club, hook up with a guy or a girl (or both), then come home the next day broke and with a fun story to tell.  He was able to parlay those stores, those experiences into a successful company in the digital age. 

Sadly, the Pizzaman was gone now, replaced with a more responsible middle-aged businessman who took a baby aspirin every morning and wore reading glasses when no one was looking.  Maybe that was his problem; was he missing the old life?  Maybe he could give Charlie a call, swing by and see everyone.  Maybe he could…Fenrir trundled into the den, licking his chops, and belched so loudly that it snapped Gabe back to reality.

“Manners, man!  Jeez,” Gabriel admonished as the dog plopped himself down beside his master’s chair.

Maxie's was a kid’s place anyhow, he reasoned. And, yeah, it was for ages 18 to 80, but there was something skeevy about a man his age playing skee-ball and exchanging tickets for cheap toys.  He’d gone with Charlie and Gilda once before, back when Charlie was worried about Gabe’s chronic bachelorhood.  They set him up on a blind date with one of Gilda’s coworkers.  Nothing ever came of it, but it was a fun time regardless.  He chuckled remembering their faces as he got up for karaoke and absolutely _owned_ Killer Queen.

Gabriel took his La-Z-Boy throne, giving his bloated dog a loving pat on his stomach. “We’re a couple of wild and crazy guys, huh boy?”

Fenrir’s only response was a sleepy thump of his tail. 

Right, time to adult.  Determinedly, Gabriel turned to page one.  The Paddling Professor 9 was your basic professor on frat boy revenge plot.  A little bondage, a little dialogue, and a whole lot of bare ass.  With their newest model, Zeke, playing the obstinate frat boy, how hard could it be?  He pulled out his pen and resolved himself to push through all the revisions tonight…right after he checked Facebook.

One hour and thirty memes later, Gabe was slouched in his chair scrolling through his phone aimlessly and the script was long forgotten.  As he neared the end of a click-bait article, he grunted in frustration as he remembered that he was supposed to be working.  Through an act of sheer will, he closed all his open apps.  Gabriel was about to put the phone away he got a notification.  Charlie sent him a text.

**_We got a late start. Sure you don’t want to join us?_ **

Gabe chuckled and replied.

**_No can do. I’m adulting 2nite.  Tell Cas to win me a slinky._ **

He hit send and placed the phone to the side.  Gabe took up the script again and got to work.  There wasn’t much talking in the first two pages, so it was just straight away into the action of binding Zeke.  This didn’t sit right with Gabe, as he thought back to his own college experience as a cocky asshole with a hot teacher.   As he started writing a small blurb of dialogue that had Zeke mouthing off to the professor (who was playing the professor this time around?).  He was about to turn the page when his phone pinged again.

**_Cas is a no show.  Pimpmobile sploded again._ **

Oh, Gabe thought, well that sucked. 

**_Well that sucks._ **

Back to work!

Gabriel turned back to the script, adding bits as he went.  The story flowed smoothly enough, and as he revised.  This is the sort of story he remembered well.  Back when he was “The Pizzaman”, he’d done his fair share of spanking scenes, but that was a long time ago.  He huffed a derisive laugh at the passage of time and went on with his revisions, mentally inserting himself into the action.

Tonight, he was playing the part of the angry professor, doling out the punishments for the hunky frat boy’s own good.  He saw himself as a magnanimous character, giving the whelp what he needed and so sorely deserved.   “Count them off, boy,” Gabe read aloud, following the action.  He pictured Zeke bent over a padded bondage horse, his pert ass a soft cherry red with definite hand prints.

He could imagine Zeke squirming beneath him, squealing behind a ball gag.  He felt his cock begin to stir, but it just wasn’t enough.

_PING!_

Gabe ignored his phone and kept his mind on the scene.  It was hot, but it was old; too similar to other movies they shot.  How could he spice things up?

_PING!_

Maybe a gimmick like the old days.  Gabe liked to use supernatural elements in his writing, usually heavily influenced from his gluttonous consumption of Weekly World News.  Perhaps there was something he could…

_PING!_

Gabriel growled and clawed at his phone.  How the hell could he be expected to weave a sexual masterpiece with all these distractions.  What the hell was so important that she had to interrupt his work?

He was furiously typing a message to Charlie to get her to shut up when a fourth message came through.  It was a picture message.  What he saw stopped Gabriel dead in his tracks.

There was a picture of Sam with his muscular arms above his head in triumph, fisting two bundles of tickets and standing in front of a free-throw game.  He had the biggest, goofiest smile on his face; the curl of his lips, the small wrinkles around his eyes and – dear God – those dimples were killing Gabe.  He was eye candy all right, and Gabe had a sweet tooth.

He finally tore his eyes away from the picture and read the texts:

**_Yea hes gonna call Meg in the morning._ **

**_Sure you can’t come out and play?  Sam asked about you ;)))_ **

**_OMG he said he’d win you a slinky if you come out!_ **

Gabriel suddenly felt flushed.  He looked back at the picture, noticing the small patch of tanned skin and the hint of a happy trail at Sam’s waistband as his t-shirt rode up. 

Gabriel’s thumbs were a blur as he responded.

**_I’ll be there in 20 minutes._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn it's been a while. So yeah, life gets in the way of everything lol. It's been an incredibly hard few months but I hope everything starts working out soon. I promise the next chapter won't be as long a wait as this one.


End file.
